Abomination
by Enrage1707
Summary: Neric is a half Nightelf half Bloodelf, an abomination in Azeroth. No faction, no home, and hated by everyone, Neric must find his place in the world and prove his worth. Neric adventures across the world determined to not let his birth prevent him from contributing to his world.
1. Chapter 1

**Abomination**

Aaron Krieger

Dusk. The darkness of night slowly pushes its way across the sky as the sun fades away into the western horizon. The owls have come out to do their hunting, hooting their presence and completing the effect of being alone at night in the dark forest.

My head is spinning, vision fading from slight clarity to complete blurriness. I can feel the sweat beads dripping from my brow. The pain is ever present, and blood dripping from the wound in my side is a nauseating sight. 24 inches, that's how long the blade was the skewered me just below my ribs about an hour ago. I spent the time in between limping and crawling my way to this tree where my body decided it could not go any further.

I lay here listening to the night sounds and looking at the ever-darkening sky wondering how I got here. What path did I take in my life that led me to this fate. Am I going to die here? Alone and bleeding my future is looking bleak at best. In reality it comes to no surprise to me that I ended up here like this. My life has been one disaster after another ever since I was born. I have faced endless cruelty and ridicule purely because of my birth, which coincidently I had no control over. In this world I am an abomination. I have no place in either great society that populates my world. Between the two ruling entities I belong to neither because of a choice that my parents made 20 years ago. Blood elves and Night elves are on opposite sides of a war that has been going for hundreds of years, yet two individuals found each other one night and conceived yours truly. 20 years ago I was born into a chaotic world and was shunned from the moment I opened my eyes, which is where my story begins…

My mothers name was Corana, a high priestess of Darnassus. She was revered in her healing powers and was a war veteran. Her mastery of the holy arts placed her in a position of power amongst the Nightelf high council. She was a direct advisor to Varian Wrynn, leader of the Alliance. Corana was a straight shooter and did things by the book. She was a dedicated soldier to the Alliance and always put her faction before her own personal needs and wants, that is, until she met my father. My father, Draven, was on the opposite end of the spectrum. He was a Blood elf born in a poverty stricken fishing village. Born and raised member of Horde, the bane of the Alliance's existence, he also was a dedicated soldier. He was a warlock, master of dark arts and bringer of death and destruction. Completely opposite of my mother.

About 20 years ago a war between the Nightelves of Darnassus and the Bloodelves of Silvermoon was coming to an end. The battle of Doomrock was the Bloodelves last stand to take over the Nightelf stronghold. This is where my mother encountered my father. After days of onslaught my mother Corana was investigating the damage of the battle, walking amongst the dead surveying the death and helping what wounded she could. This is where the story gets a little blurry for me. To my knowledge my mother was on the outskirts of the rock searching the strip of land that connected the island to the main land. She stumbled across a near death Bloodelf, half burned and wincing from pain. Normally she would have cast a shadow spell, which she knew little about , and ended his suffering but something stopped her as she gazed into his eyes. She decided to help him for reasons she could not begin to understand. She took him to a secluded cave where she began work to heal him. She spent days there with him, secretly leaving her post and returning to him almost every night. Some time after he was nearly completely healed they had started to fall in love and I was conceived one night under the moon and stars.

One night while Corana was in the cave with Draven discussing ways to get him out of the cave when a unit of Nightelf rangers appeared in the cave entrance, with Valeera, ranger commander and very high ranking in the Alliance army. Valeera approached my mother who was cowering in fear and knew her death would come by the hands of her own people. Draven stood in front of her, protecting her. "What have you done Corana?" Valeera said with disgust. Corana had nothing too say so she stayed silent. "Just turn around and leave and we will go away, nothing has to happen, nobody has to die, I have no beef with you" my father pleaded to Valeera. "Take her" commanded Valeera as 3 rangers marched forward and snatched her by her robes and bound her wrists in enchanted rope. "No! please don't hurt him please, I , I im pregnant" Corana pleaded. Stunned with disbelief Valeera's anger was rising. "Heracy!" she exclaimed and withdrew her long blade and placed it to Corana's throat. "You will die for this treason, and that abomination in your stomach will never plague this world" Valeera threatened as she raised her longblade high above her head, preparing to strike Corana down. Just as she was driving the blade through the air intense pain overcame her and she dropped the blade on the ground with a loud clang. She gazed up to see my father, hands out and whispering. Draven was cursing her, to protect my mother. He waved his hands in a ceremonious fashion, chanting words from a dark language and three hell hounds emerged from the earth. "KILL THEM!" Valeera shouted as the hounds leaped at the other rangers. Draven untied Corana from her lashing and told her to run. She ran as fast as she could through the trees, hopping over rivers, stumbling through brush, and in the distance she could hear the unmistakable scream of death, uttered from Draven, the father of her unborn child.


	2. Chapter 2

Laying here under the stars against a tall oak tree I can feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness. I try hard to stay awake because I am unsure if I will ever wake up again. My hair, long and silver, is soaked; matted to my face from sweat. Outside of the gaping wound in my side I am unscathed which is surprising considering the circumstances.

Reminiscing of my past seems to be the only thing keeping me awake. Remember what I have endured and what brought me here, the forrest outside of the ancient ruins of Lordaeron. I had been near this area once before when I was only 10 but that was a different time, and certainly different circumstances.

My mother had at first ran, then jogged, then walked, then eventually crawled to the point where she could not move anymore. She didn't know where she was going but only that she needed to escape. She was now wanted for treason, not to mention carrying me in her belly which was a crime with punishment no one person should endure.

Corana was stationed for the battle of Doomrock, a small island off the coast of Darkshore. The cave in which she provided Draven refuge was just east of Darkshore along the mountain ranges that separate Darkshore and Felwood. When she ran she moved south where she eventually collapsed in a burned and dead forrest on the very edges of Stonetalon Mountains, territory she was completely unfamiliar with, and dangerously close to the Horde capital.

Corana was eventually discovered by a goblin scouting party. Grizzich was the name of the scout leader. Finding her unconscious and recognizing her robes as being a high priestess he picked her up and loaded her into their caravan, where he then took her to their makeshift encampment.

The camp was in preparation to be a permanent goblin stronghold. Its location within the Stonetalon Mountains provided a natural protection and was in a good location for trading their goods and services to both Horde and Alliance alike. Grizzich happened to be the leader of the camp. When my mother had come too she had confessed everything to him out of fear for her unborn child. Through much deliberation and due to the fact that goblins have no faction to call their own, they decided she could stay and they would keep her identity hidden, this is where I come in.

I was born on a night being ripped apart by an earth shaking storm. High winds and torrential rain pounded the tent where my mother pushed, cried, and screamed until I came into existence screaming and bloody.

Neric is the name she gave me, never gave my name much thought and to be honest most people I have encountered do not use my name. I had dark silver hair, elongated ears, and a facial marking on the right side of my face, a kind of criss-crossed tribal design of deep purple almost black. My eyes, bright green, a signature of Bloodelves, which gave me away as an unpure Nightelf. After I was cleaned and my mother held me in her arms, something went wrong. She went into a seizure and the medic on hand took me away into another room. I was later told that she seized for 10 minutes until the life had gone from her. I never got to speak to my mother or ask her for advice, because she died, she died because she wanted me to live.


	3. Chapter 3

Tinskitch was the name of my home, a small encampment mostly consisting of black leather tents and a few stone built buildings. My childhood consisted of being ridiculed for being "unnatural" and doing whatever the members of the scout group demanded, which was everything.

Tinskitch was a scouting post and a trade halfway point. The goblins are geniuses mechanics and engineers and spend most their life peddling their wares to both factions, giving grace to the highest bidder. The positioning of Tinskitch made it protected by the mountains in Stonetalon as well as in direct path from Horde outposts in the Barrens and the Alliance outposts in Ashenvale. Tinskitch specialized in magic enhancing artifacts and uniquely engineered weaponry.

Grizzich had assigned me a handler once I was old enough to talk and walk, his name was Bundoo, an older goblin with dark green skin and drooping ears. His eyes were bright yellow and his mouth was always frowning, no matter what anyone did or said. Bundoo was hard on me, very strict and gave little forgiveness for failure. This behavior forged me from a young age to always be on point with anything I do. I learned to be aware of everything and suspicious of everyone. When Bundoo was not ordering me to perform some mundane task or training me in the armory, I was being tortured physically, verbally, and mentally by the other citizens and passerbys that came through the camp. One look at me screamed abnormal and the particulars of my Nightelf skin and Bloodelf eyes didn't escape many people on my origins.

Now most soldiers and fighters are born into a discipline or they are trained into a single art of combat, a mastery. For most people it is ingrained in their blood what kind of soldier they will be. Whether its slinging spells as a mage or sneaking around assassinating and poisoning as a member of the rogue order. I was always different though. When I was not hauling cargo, repairing structures, or being bait for potential scouting parties I was in the makeshift armory training in any sort of combat I could find. Bundoo gave me credit in only one area and that was my ability to learn combat techniques across multiple disciplines.

Since my mother was a priestess and my father a warlock I tended to gravitate towards these areas. The armory which was a circular structure with a fighting pit in the center, contained shelves upon shelves of books and grimoires containing the secrets of dark magic. Warlocks always get disgusted looks because of the nature of their craft but that didn't bother me since I was looked down upon anyway.

I studied grimoires and holy books alike, learning how to curse and decay as well as heal and mend. I picked up on both rather easily and felt confident in my abilities. I also spent time with daggers. I always liked the way they felt in my hand. Small and concealable but deadly as can be with a precise strike. I began to fuse three disciplines of combat into my being and it amazed others. I personally don't thing there is anything special about me, I always believed most other people had no reason to attempt more than one, where as I needed an escape from the reality of my existence.

When I was 17 I had become quite proficient in my battle skills. Bundoo was impressed and would usually assign me as protection during shipping runs. I would scout ahead and make sure no bandits were waiting to ambush the caravan and steal all their hard work and gold. My selection irritated Gobor, a massive ogre that had been in the camp from before I was born. I never learned where he came from, but goblins and ogres tended to band together because of their shared interest in gold and neutrality. Gobor was an impressive specimen; about 8 feet tall shoulders thick as boulders and a chest scarred from many battles. He usually wore a crossed leather harness with spikes. His single eye in the center of his massive fleshy head never missed a thing, and he was quick despite his size.

Gobor hated me. He hated everything that I represented, and he really started to hate me when I was being chosen over him to handle protection and enforcement. Grizzich never selected me because he liked me, he selected me because I was less inconspicuous and could get the job done with no questions asked.

One day shortly after I had turned 17 I was walking around the outside of the armory looking at the walls checking for needed repairs. I was examining a small stone that was offset when I felt myself being raised in the air.

"Little man! Gobor is tired of looking at you" Gobor exclaimed as he raised me in the air by my vest. I attempted to shake free to no avail.

"hahaha" he laughed and then threw me hard against the stone. I struck the wall and slid down amongst the weeds. Wincing I rose up and walked straight up to his feet. His height caused me to stair directly at his belly but I looked him dead in the eye.

"Gobor, I am tired of dealing with your bull" I said with a grin, "If you want to get rid of me, lets do it in there" I pointed to the armory's fighting pit then turned and walked inside.

There were a few goblins and other scouts wandering around inside but for the most part fairly empty. I walked over the northern wall where the blade racks stood and retrieved my favorite daggers from their resting place. Black oak handles hollowed out so they weighed next to nothing, and 8 inch long blade sharpened to a deadly point, made of mithryl and slightly curved.

Gobor had come in and following him, what seemed like the entire camp, including Bundoo and Grizzich. The goblins filled around the pit which was not much of a pit at all but just a ring circled by stakes and rope. I slipped my daggers into their sheathes on the backside of my jerkin and crossed my arms waiting for Gobor to speak or make his move, this would be a right of passage for me.

"Its past time Gobor breaks your little body" Gobor confidently said to me as he entered the opposite side of the ring.

I looked around at the goblins. Some were shouting and cheering, most were whispering to each other. I even saw some gold exchange hands. They were placing bets upon me, or against me as it turned out. I had wondered at that moment if they wanted me dead. If they were tired of harboring an abomination and wanted to get rid of me.

We had a rule, we never kill our own. Fights occurred more often than not but just a struggle with some bumps and bruises, never death.

Gobor removed his mallet from his back sheath. It was an impressive mallet made of wood and stood about 5 feet tall. Gobor had hammered metal plates and spikes around its edges. Deadly to say the least.

"Now Gobor show you what real fighting is!" Gobor yelled as he lunged forward. I moved quickly rolling to my right as the mallet came crashing down where I stood. The sound of it hitting the sand with such a thud sent chills down my spine. Returning to a crouched position I withdrew my daggers. Gobor had lifted his mallet once more and was preparing to launch his second assault. I watched him as he moved and swung it in a side swiping circle. I leaped in the air and came down both daggers aimed, cutting a slice out of his right wrist.

"You are slow ogre" I said as I rolled back into a ready position. Gobor stumbled slightly from almost losing grip of the hammer.

"GAAAHHHHHHH" he bellowed and threw the hammer at me. I was not expecting this and did not get out of the way in time. I attempted to roll and was caught right in the stomach by the handle of the mallet, sending me flying to the edge of the ring and leaving me devoid of air.

Gasping I scrambled to get to my feet but Gobor was already upon me pinning me down with his large foot crushing my chest.

"Hahaha now what you do FREAK!" he mused as I lay beneath him struggling to breath. Gobor retrieved his mallet but kept his foot on me. I couldn't reach my daggers and certainly couldn't move under his weight.

"You die now!" he screamed and lifted the mallet high into the air. I was not prepared to die there, not yet. Gobor didn't know that I was able to wield dark magic, so I whispered a little incantation under my breath and Gobor stopped mid stroke.

"NNGN, what what? NNGN….AHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the pain started slow then amplified as it coursed through his body , Gobor reeled backwards and dropped his mallet, falling to one knee. I quickly snatched my daggers rushed forward and with a leap drove both into his chest, right into his heart. Gobor collapsed and I could hear the cries and gasps coming from the outside of the ring. I had committed a sin that is typically not forgiven. I had to though, kill or be killed, I chose the former.


End file.
